Saving McGee
by Shellie Williams
Summary: McGee gets into trouble when he returns to question a father about a missing sailor. Can Gibbs and the rest of the team get to him in time?
1. Chapter 1

**Saving McGee **

**Shellie Williams**

********

McGee followed Mr. Archer into the living room. The elderly gentleman moved slowly, leaning heavily on his wooden cane. He shuffled to the couch and turned, then began lowering himself to the faded cushions. Resisting the urge to hold Mr. Archer's elbow and guide him safely to his seat, McGee chose the overstuffed chair facing the couch and sat down. He pulled a small notebook from an inside pocket, apologizing as he searched for his original notes.

"I'm sorry to bother you again, Mr. Archer, but there were a few questions I needed to clear up."

Seated, both hands planted atop the cane's hook, Mr. Archer regarded him sourly from beneath bushy gray eyebrows. "My son is innocent. Why can't you people get that through your heads?"

Ducking to avoid the question, McGee thumbed quickly through his notes. "Michael has not contacted you since he went missing four days ago, correct?"

"I told you that, day before yesterday."

"Yes, well, just making sure nothing's changed since the last time we talked, Mr. Archer. Your son still has not contacted you?"

"No." The older man chewed his words like gravel and spit them at McGee. "I told you he probably headed for Florida to see his old army buddy, Jeff Crump."

"Yes -- " A muffled thump from the kitchen drew McGee's attention.

Apparently, Mr. Archer heard it too, because he moved as if to turn, but instead his eyes shifted nervously, then refocused on McGee.

"We tried to verify that, but unfortunately Jeff Crump passed away last year." The scrape of wood on wood, like a drawer being pulled open, moved McGee to his feet. "Mr. Archer, I thought you said you were alone this afternoon."

"I am. That's the cat." Eyes widened with alarm, Mr. Archer stood quickly and moved to block McGee's entrance into the kitchen.

Surprised with the quicker-than-expected move, McGee paused briefly, then reached to pull his gun from his holster. "Excuse me, Mr. Archer." Shifting around the older man, McGee peered cautiously into the kitchen. Michael Archer stood near the refrigerator, knife in hand, frozen to the linoleum as if he'd stepped in crazy glue.

"Michael Archer, you're under arrest for the murder of Staff Sergeant Hendrix. Put the knife down and keep your hands where I can see them."

Michael's eyes shifted slightly to a spot just behind McGee's shoulder. Realization that he'd left his back unprotected hit at about the same time solid wood connected violently with his skull. The old cane shattered and splinters showered the linoleum.

McGee's head snapped back with the blow; he tumbled to the floor. His gun skittered across the kitchen and spun to a stop beside Michael's foot. Michael reached for the weapon.

"Michael, No!"

The young man stopped and peered up at his dad. "He was going to arrest me, Pa."

"I know. But you don't have to kill him. Just take him away and keep him quiet for a few days while you get a head start. They'll be so busy looking for their missing agent they won't have time to look for you."

"But --"

"Do as I say!"

The thunderous command filled the small room. The tall, burley sailor's wide shoulders cringed. "Yes sir. Where should I take him?"

Mr. Archer studied the floor for an instant before looking back at his son. "Take him to the old home place. Tie him up and put him in the barn. If they don't find him in a few days, I'll give them some sort of clue as to where to find him. You should be long gone by then."

McGee shifted slightly and moaned. Michael's face curled into an angry sneer. Before his father could stop him, he drew back his foot and landed a hard kick to McGee's side. The unconscious NCIS agent curled in around himself and grew quiet.

"Michael!"

"He was going to arrest me and send me to prison!"

Jaw knotting with repressed anger, Mr. Archer moved across the room to his son. "Tie him up and get him in the truck. Make sure no one sees you." He glanced down at McGee, then back at his son. "And make sure he stays alive, or I won't be able to help you if they do manage to find you." Waiting long enough to make sure his message was clear, Mr. Archer shuffled past his son. "I'll go move his car."

A smile slid across Michael's face. He pulled out a nearby drawer and withdrew a twisted bundle of hemp rope. Kneeling beside McGee, he roughly rolled the agent to his stomach and pulled his arms behind his back. "'Make sure he stays alive.' -- That'll be up to him, Pa, not me." Wrapping the rough rope several times around McGee's wrists, Michael knotted and cut it then started on his feet.

Pushing McGee to his back, Michael stood. Grabbing McGee's jacket lapels, he pulled him from the floor, then deftly hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. A whuff of air gushed from McGee. Michael smiled and carried his burden out through the garage. Not taking time to be gentle, he dumped McGee in the bed of the truck and covered him with an old tarp. Even if he regained consciousness during the trip, the ropes would keep him from moving much, or at least keep him occupied for the hour-long trip to the old farm.

Michael gunned the engine a few times, then shifted into drive and left the house. In the back of the truck, McGee swarm through darkness, oblivious of the danger ahead.

*******

"Where's McGee?"

Ziva glanced up from her keyboard with Tony's question. "I believe Gibbs sent him back to Mr. Archer's house to follow up the new lead." She paused, eyes narrowed. "Why?"

A frown danced across Tony's face. He shrugged. "No reason. Just seems like he should be back by now."

The elevator doors opened and Gibbs made a beeline for his desk. He used his key to unlock the drawer and remove his weapon. "Tony, run a background check on Mr. Archer. The father, not the son. Ziva, I need you to -"

"Locate the other men in Ensign Archer's squad? On it."

Fingers poised over his keyboard, Tony watched Gibbs turn back to the elevator. "Where're you headed, Boss?"

"Finding out what's taking McGee so long."

*******

Awareness returned in bits and pieces, floating just beyond his grasp. Memories spoke to him, whispering in his mind. A rocking motion kept him drowsy, lulling him back to darkness. He tried to turn over and change positions; his arm was asleep. Something caught and held him, wouldn't let him move. McGee blinked awake and stared at the grey canvas just inches from his face. _What the hell?_

A hard turn forced his body over, rolling him to his stomach. Everything fell into place, and he remembered. Danger heightened McGee's senses. He tried to pull away from the dirty, oil-smeared rags that littered the truck bed, and succeeded in rolling partially to his back. The new position put pressure on his bound hands, so he shifted to his side.

The vehicle slowed down and turned. Smooth surface gave way to a rough road. McGee stiffened and curled tight, trying to keep his head from bouncing against hard metal. No doubt Archer drove the truck, and was taking him somewhere – but to hide, or to get rid of? Neither option was desirable, because both promised pain. Fear shocked McGee into action. He tried to move his feet and discovered his ankles were bound. Determination and a rising sense of panic fueled his need to be free. He began fighting against the ropes, pulling and tugging his feet apart. Something gave way and his feet were free just about the same time the truck began slowing down again. Breathing heavy, McGee held still to make note of which way they were turning. Instead, the truck slowed down more. Clenching his teeth, eyes closed with concentration, McGee focused on breathing steady, regaining the rhythm of a sleeper. This was probably his only chance to catch Archer off guard and possibly win his freedom.

With an irritating squeal of old brake pads, the truck rolled to a stop. The door opened and shut. McGee relaxed and lay boneless against the truck bed. When someone grabbed the canvas and pulled it away, it took every ounce of his willpower not to move. A hard jab to the back of his shoulder rolled him slightly forward, then back again. Archer grunted, then moved to the back of the truck and released the tailgate. Large hands grabbed McGee's ankles and pulled. His head bounced against the corrugated metal, but McGee didn't react. The second tug pulled his body half clear of the truck. The hard edge of the tailgate bit into the back of his thighs.

Quickly, before Archer could reach for him again, McGee opened his eyes, bent his knees, and kicked out hard, catching Archer full in the chest. A surprised "oof!" gushed out of Archer as he crashed to the ground and rolled away. Not waiting to see how badly he'd been stunned, McGee rushed from the truck. A quick glance showed nothing promising. It seemed they were in the middle of nowhere; no houses, no sound of cars on the highway, no voices. Just an old country house, obviously abandoned, the truck, an old grey barn in the near distance, and the dirt road they'd driven in on.

It had taken him too long to orient. Archer tackled him from behind. McGee went down hard, the bigger man on top of him, driving him into the ground. He bucked, freeing himself of Archer, then rolled to regain his footing. Archer moved faster. He locked both fists in McGee's jacket and pulled him up, then rammed his knee into McGee's gut. Winded, McGee fell to his knees and bent double. A roar brought his head up just in time to meet Archer's fist, bursting bright and painful against his cheekbone. McGee's head snap twisted hard to the side. His body followed and he landed on his side in the dirt. Archer came at him, kicking once, twice, three times into his gut. McGee gagged, his diaphragm laboring to draw breath into his lungs. Numbness stole over him, reminding him of when he'd hit his thumb with a hammer. He knew it would only last a second, then excruciating pain would rush in to fill the void.

Archer grabbed him and pulled him from the ground. He forced McGee to his feet and pushed him, aiming him toward the barn.

Head down, breathing hard, McGee walked as slowly as he dared. Archer kept pushing his shoulder, urging him to walk faster.

"Why are you doing this, Archer? You know you can't get away with it."

"Shut up."

McGee waited a second, then tried again. "Look, all you have to do is bring me back. I can talk to the --" A hard jab to his kidney knocked McGee off balance and surprised a guttural cry of pain from his throat. He dropped to his knees.

Archer grabbed a fistful of McGee's hair and twisted his head back. McGee groaned with pain. His neck creaked with the unnatural backward position. Something thin and cold slid across the curved arch of his exposed throat. Archer leaned in close and whispered his threat menacingly against McGee's face. "I said 'shut up.' You understand?"

McGee swallowed with difficulty and did his best to nod, which was impossible with Archer's tight grip. But the man must have felt the movement and been satisfied, because he withdrew the knife from McGee's throat. Again, McGee found himself pulled to his feet. "Now, walk."

There was nothing else he could do. Two huge doors, the left hanging by one rusty hinge, gapped open. Shoving through with his shoulders, McGee entered the relative darkness of the barn. A few steps inside, he stopped. "I can't see. What do you want me to --" Twisting around to find Archer, McGee's mind exploded with light, then darkness enclosed around him. His knees folded and he collapsed to the ground.

Archer dropped the shovel. He noted the open cut on McGee's forehead, then leaned down to cut away the ropes wrapped around McGee's wrists. He'd made a decision. His pa had gotten him out of trouble before, but there was no way he was getting out of this one. He'd killed Staff Sergeant Hendrix, and these NCIS people were smart enough to figure it out. He was going to jail. Period. But he wasn't going easy. And he was going to take down as many of these NCIS agents as he could along the way.

Working quickly, he began removing McGee's clothes. Leaving the young man in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers, Archer retied McGee's hands with heavier rope, as well as his ankles. A heavy pulley system hung from the barn's rafters. Moving to a wall, Archer unwound the rope, and lowered a heavy metal hook to the floor. Securing the rope to the wall, Archer walked back to McGee. Deftly, he fastened McGee's hands to the hook, then shifted back to the wall. He pulled on the rope, lifting McGee from the ground until all his weight rested on his knees. Satisfied, Archer wrapped the rope back around its anchor, then returned to McGee to check his work.

Muffled sound fought through his consciousness. McGee lowered his head and moaned, wondering why it sounded and felt as if he were underwater. His head weighed heavy and his bones ached with weariness. He opened his eyes and remembered. Cool air brushed against his skin, and he realized most of his clothes were gone. Alarmed, he pulled himself up, then had to stop and catch his breath when pain nearly drove him back to his knees. At least his arms no longer pulled on sore ribs. But without a knife or someone to help, there was no way he was going to be able to untie himself. He glanced up and found Archer watching him.

"You don't have to do this, Archer."

Archer nodded. "I know." He began circling McGee. Tim moved with him, keeping him in sight.

"Then why? You could lay your knife on the ground within my reach, get in your truck and leave. By the time I free myself and contact my team, you'll be far ahead of us."

Archer shrugged. The calculating look in his eyes, as if he were figuring out his best plan of attack, unnerved McGee. "Don't matter. Either way, you'll catch me. Now or later really doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. If you keep hurting me and holding me against my will, things will be harder for you than if you just turn yourself in, or just let me go."

Archer shook his head. "No. I've already hurt you. They'll never go easy on me now. I'm tired of listening to you. I've already made up my mind."

"But – wait!"

Archer rushed at him. McGee tried to lift his arms and use the huge hook he was bound to, to block the punch, but his sore ribs left him weak. As if he were sparing with a partner, Archer came at him like a boxer. Knuckles cut across McGee's face twice, whipping his head from side to side. Eyes closed, he didn't see the fist headed for his nose, but he saw the white light that exploded against the black of his eyelids. He felt himself falling and grabbed the rope that attached the hook to the rafters.

Breathing heavy, he watched Archer prowl around him. It occurred to him as overkill for the marine to look for a vulnerable spot. There was nothing McGee could do to defend himself.

"Archer, if you'll just listen to me for a minute --"

In answer, Archer executed a perfect round-house kick to McGee's side. McGee arched in pain and tried to reach for his ribs. Losing his grip on the only thing that anchored him, he fell to his knees. Arms above his head, he trembled with the realization of how vulnerable he was. When he saw Archer brace himself, then whip around with lethal force, aiming for his ribs, McGee closed his eyes and screamed.

*******

Gibbs pulled into Mr. Archer's driveway just as his phone rang. Caller ID identified Tony's number. Gibbs turned off the car and answered.

"_Boss, I've found something interesting about Mr. Archer. The father, not the son."_

"What'd you find?"

"_Seems Archer, Sr. has pulled his son out of more trouble than he let on. Juvenile records are sealed, but I talked to Michael Archer's probation officer. Little Michael stayed in trouble, in and out of Juvy Hall from age 15 to 17. When faced with an adult sentence, and a no-nonsense Judge, he straightened up his act and joined the Marines."_

"That a fact?" Gibbs opened the door and got out of the car.

"_Yep. And that's not all. Two years ago, Michael was up for assault and battery. Charges were dropped because the witness refused to testify. Nine months ago he was charged again. This time, the witness was relocated to another assignment before Archer could go to trial. Scuttlebutt says Archer, Sr. paid off both the witness, __**and**__ the Judge. Ziva's been going through the Archer's financial records, and all accounts are nearly bone dry. Large amounts have been withdrawn on dates coinciding with the silenced and relocated witnesses."_

"Any word from McGee?"

"_Nope. Is his car still at the Archers? But, you're there, so you wouldn't be asking if you knew where he was, would you, Boss?"_

Gibbs disconnected the call and walked to the house. He noticed what appeared to be a car parked under an awning, covered with a tarp. One corner, folded inward, revealed part of the car's bumper and rear end. The worry in his gut flipped into concern when Gibbs recognized the color and make matching the sedan McGee had been driving. Not willing to jump to conclusions yet, Gibbs knocked.

He waited, then knocked again. "Mr. Archer. It's NCIS."

His patience was finally rewarded when the elder Mr. Archer opened the door. Eyes downcast, he leaned heavily on the door and barely cut his gaze upward at Gibbs. "What do you want? Can't you people leave me alone?"

Uninvited, Gibbs carefully pushed his way into the house. Mr. Archer moved out of his way despite the older man's obvious unease of allowing Gibbs through the door.

"My son's not here, Agent Gibbs. There's nothing here for you."

Ignoring Mr. Archer, Gibbs glanced around the room and ducked his head, trying to look through to the kitchen. Archer shuffled past him awkwardly, reaching for the back of a chair to lean against, blocking Gibbs from entering the kitchen.

"Where's your cane?"

Archer's eyes widened with the question. "I – I left it in the bedroom. I don't need it while I'm here in the house."

Gibbs stopped his visual search of the room and focused his eyes on Mr. Archer. The scrutiny seemed to unnerve the older man. "That's not what Agent McGee told me."

Archer's eyes darted from left to right. "Agent McGee's not here."

Gibbs casually brushed past Archer and walked into the kitchen. "I know." The bottoms of his shoes seemed to want to slide on the floor. He squatted down and ran his fingertips across the linoleum, then rubbed them together. Standing up, Gibbs turned to face Archer. "But his car's still here." Before Archer could protest, Gibbs lifted his chin toward the direction he knew McGee's car to be hidden. "It's parked outside your house. You want to tell me why you're trying to hide it under a tarp?" Moving in close, Gibbs squinted and stared Archer straight in the eye. "Where's Agent McGee?"

Archer refused to answer. His chin quivered and his thin lips pressed together.

Gibbs took a step closer. "Your son is a murderer, Mr. Archer. I realize you want to protect him, but you can't buy this one away. He's gone too far this time. Now tell me – where is my agent?"

Archer opened his mouth, but instead of answering, he gasped. Clutching one hand to his chest, he reached out with the other as he fell. Gibbs caught him and lowered him gently to the floor. Supporting his head with one hand, he reached for his phone with the other, dialed 911, and called for help.

Archer gasped and opened his eyes. His breathing was labored, his eyes glazed over. "M-Michael's a g-good boy. I just –" Pain clenched across his face. He stiffened and groaned.

"Easy, take it easy. Help's on the way."

He swallowed and opened his eyes. Moisture gathered and streamed down the side of his face, following the myriad creases and crevices etched into his features. "He – He took your agent – to – old --"

Gibbs leaned in close. "Where did he take him, Mr. Archer?"

Archer's eyes closed. He groaned softly. His body relaxed against the floor and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Alarmed, Gibbs pressed his palm against the side of his face. "Mr. Archer? Let me help your son. Where did he take McGee?"

Blue eyes opened, but Gibbs doubted Archer could see him anymore. "Take c-care of him. Don't h-hurt him, p-please."

A siren's thin wail pierced the distance. Gibbs felt Archer's life ebbing away. He knew the old man would be gone before the ambulance could arrive.

"Where is he, Mr. Archer?"

"Old home – old farm. Knoxville. Knoxville." Archer's eyes closed. "P-please, don't h--" With a gentle sign, his breath left him and his body melted soft and lax against the floor.

Gibbs shook his head, frustrated with an old man's love for a son who didn't deserve it. But then again, who had shaped Michael Archer into the man he'd become? Unwilling to think ill of a man who'd just died in his arms, Gibbs stood up and went to the door to signal the ambulance driver pulling into the driveway. He pulled out his phone and called Tony.

"_Yeah, Boss?"_

"Archer's dead."

"_Boss .. you didn't --?"_

Exasperated, Gibbs cut him off. "No, Tony, I didn't kill him. The old man had a heart attack. But he told me where his son took McGee. I need the location of the family's old home or farm in Knoxville. I'm headed there in about 2 minutes. You and Ziva join me there."

It took Gibbs less than two minutes to wrap things up at the Archer house. He was in his car and fifteen minutes down the road when Tony called with directions. Hanging up, he pressed his foot against the gas, pushing the car faster. _Hang on, McGee. We're coming._

*******


	2. Chapter 2

****

Gibbs slowed as he turned down another dirt road. According to Tony, the Archer Farm lay at the end. The sun sat low in the sky, cutting deep shadows beneath the trees. The road looked abandoned. Just as he was beginning to think Tony had gotten the directions wrong, the trees lining the road opened up into an old home place. Bushes and hedges that had been allowed to grow unchecked nearly overran the yard and held the house like a huge clenched fist all along the foundation. White paint, now faded, thinned to gray in spots.

Gibbs pulled to a stop beside an old Ford truck. He got out of his car quickly after cutting the engine. Staying low, gun in hand, he shifted around the car and hurried to the truck. The tailgate was down. An old tarp hung off the edge. The dry, loose dirt around the vehicle appeared trampled and stirred, not by wind, but by boot scuffs and footprints.

Cautiously, Gibbs moved toward the house. Other than the truck, he couldn't see any sign that anyone had been here recently. The porch creaked as he walked across it to look inside a window. A fireplace sat dusty and abandoned along one wall. The room was bare, but something caught his eye. Gibbs flattened himself against the wall and looked closer. Faint sunlight glinted off a knife left on the floor. Some coils of rope lay stacked haphazard nearby, but there was no sign of Michael Archer. He took his phone out and opened it, but immediately realized he had no signal. He put the phone away.

Leaving the porch, Gibbs walked carefully around the perimeter of the house. A gray structure rose in the near distance. Keeping low, Gibbs made his way to the barn. The hair on the back of his neck rose. He froze and listened. He felt eyes on him, but he couldn't locate the source. Moving as quickly as he could, he ducked lower and stepped inside the barn.

Sunlight pierced slanted swords of light through gaps in the barn wall, laying strips across the form kneeling in the center of the open area. Gibbs froze, overcome for an instant with the vision before him. He'd been witness to the results of men's depravity, and the brutal savagery one person could do to another human being for most of his adult life; whether in war or in law enforcement, but to see cruelty visited on a friend tripled the grief nearly beyond what he could bare.

He swallowed hard, forcing bitter bile back down his throat. Tucking his gun into his belt, he pulled out his knife and hurried toward Tim. Rough rope, tied around McGee's wrists, held his arms above his head. Gibbs dropped to one knee, wrapped an arm around McGee's waist, and reached up with his knife to sever the rope. McGee crumbled, but Gibbs caught him and lowered him gently to the floor. Tim's body folded as loosely as a jointed puppet.

McGee's clothes had been removed, leaving him dressed only in a light T-shirt and boxer shorts. Gibbs looked around briefly, hoping to spot something, but the barn seemed to be empty other than old tools and farming equipment. He brought his attention back to Tim just in time to see the younger man's eyes blink, and then squint open.

"McGee – Tim."

Tim surged up from the ground, or at least, tried to. He curled up and his face folded in pain.

"Easy, take it easy, now."

Rather than watch him struggle, Gibbs caught Tim and helped him up. McGee sagged against him, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Ar-Archer --"

Gibbs made use of his knife and cut the ropes around Tim's wrists. "I couldn't find him. Archer, Sr. just died. Heart attack." Being careful not to take away Tim's support, Gibbs twisted and started cutting away the ropes around McGee's ankles. "Before he died, he told me where his son took you." Finished, he slipped his knife back into his pocket. "How bad are you hurt?"

Tim swallowed and closed his eyes. Gibbs grasped his jaw gently and turned his head, studying the bruising and shadowing along his face. Most of the dried blood patterns came from a cut just above one eyebrow, and his nose.

"I'll live."

Gibbs couldn't help it. A tired laugh gushed airy out of his mouth. He watched Tim's lips quirk in a little smile and lightly patted his face. "I think you're right. Let's get to the car before Archer comes back to check on you. Can you stand?"

McGee nodded. He wrapped an arm around himself and grasped Gibbs' shoulder with his other hand. "Just need a little – help."

Gibbs rose, then held still when McGee groaned and leaned against him. Urgency pulled his nerves tight, but he bit down on the need to tell McGee to hurry.

A bullet pinged off an old tractor not two feet away just as the echoing shot blasted the air around them. Gibbs ducked and pulled McGee down. Instead of instructing, he just picked the direction and ran, pulling McGee with him. They stumbled behind a pile of equipment and took cover. Gibbs let go of McGee and brought his gun up to take aim. Nothing moved; nothing stirred. Maybe this boy needed a little encouragement.

"Give it up, Archer." Gibbs voice echoed loud in the barn's stillness. "You've kidnapped a federal agent. There's nowhere for you to run."

"You've got that backwards."

Gibbs squinted, trying to pinpoint Archer's location. Sound bounced around inside the building like a rubber ball, never landing in just one spot.

"You're the one with nowhere to run. Your agent's not going to make it far, and you can't carry him. Toss your gun out where I can see it and come on out."

Archer kept talking, but Gibbs was no longer listening. He'd already weighed his options and knew what to do. By his calculations, Tony and Ziva should arrive at any minute. All he and McGee had to do was keep out of Archer's hands until then.

Tapping McGee on the shoulder, Gibbs pointed toward a back exit. "Not going to happen, Archer! My backup's on its way and you're going to be outnumbered ten to one. Give it up now before this gets ugly." Not waiting to hear Archer's reply, Gibbs turned to McGee and whispered quietly, "Ready to get out of here?" McGee nodded. "Stay low and keep next to me." Wrapping one arm around McGee for support, Gibbs lead the way out.

***


	3. Chapter 3

****

The car's engine sounded loud in the relative quiet that had dominated since leaving NCIS. Unable to keep silent any longer, Ziva drew out her phone. "Maybe they've got a signal now." She flipped her phone open and put it to her ear, but then quickly pulled it down and shut it.

Tony looked at her, then back at the road. "What's wrong?"

"Now we don't have a signal, either." Obviously exasperated, Ziva propped her elbow on the window and pushed back her hair. "We need to be there now, Tony. You should have let me drive."

"It wouldn't do them any good if we died in a fatal car crash before we got there."

"But we would _be_ there by now!"

Tony kept his eyes on the road. Contrary to Ziva's complaints, they were driving at a high rate of speed. Gibbs would be proud. "He'll be fine, Ziva. They both will. Gibbs probably has Archer bagged and tagged by now."

"McGee has been missing for over four hours."

Tony shrugged. "That's not that long."

Ziva's eyes slanted his way. "Do you know what I could do to you in four hours?"

Uneasy, Tony shifted in his seat. "Archer's not you, Ziva. He probably didn't do anything but tie McGee up and stash him in a closet somewhere."

"He murdered his C.O., Tony, what makes you think he will not injure McGee in a similar fashion?"

"Because McGee doesn't intimidate him. Little Probie Puppy couldn't intimidate anyone."

"You've seen McGee be quite intimidating during interrogation before."

"That's different."

Ziva shook her head and pressed her back against the seat. "He beat Staff Sergeant Hendrix to death, Tony. A man equal in size and ability to his own."

"Would you stop it already? McGee's fine. Stop worrying." But Tony began chewing on his lip. The seeds of doubt Ziva had planted inside his head of arriving and finding McGee dead bloomed frighteningly clear. Relief cut through him when he spotted the house. "We're here."

****

Fierce pride swept through Gibbs with McGee's incredible determination and drive. He knew the young man was hurting. McGee kept a hand pressed to his belly and held his elbows in tight to his sides. His breathing came in grunts and gasps, but he didn't complain and doggedly kept pace with Gibbs.

As if reading Gibbs' thoughts, McGee cried out and doubled over, dragging them both to their knees. Gibbs held onto him, kept him from falling on his face. He watched McGee's anguish and worried, not for the first time, about internal injuries. No doubt his ribs were badly injured, possibly fractured or even broken; what if one of them had pierced a lung? No, he'd seen men with those types of injuries before and knew the signs. McGee was breathing hard; he wasn't wheezing or struggling to draw in air. But if Archer had hit him hard enough, it was possible he'd done enough damage to cause internal bleeding. The sooner he could get McGee to a hospital, the better. The wait weighed heavy on Gibbs' shoulders.

"Just a little longer, Tim."

McGee nodded but didn't answer.

"We're going to circle back around to the house. Tony and Ziva are probably here, looking for us. Just hang on."

Anchoring his palm against McGee's shoulder, Gibbs pulled them both up. McGee leaned on him heavily for a moment, then seemed to regain his footing. He nodded, indicating he was ready, and Gibbs lead them off again, following a crude circling path back toward the house.

They'd barely made ten more feet when Tim grunted and nearly fell again. Gibbs tightened his one-armed grip around Tim and clenched his teeth with McGee's nearly inaudible groan, probably due to unwanted pressure against his ribs. "Come on, McGee, hang in there."

McGee's head dipped in what might have been a nod. He was too breathless to answer. Blood painted black shadows down McGee's pale face in the forest's slowly deepening gloom. The setting sun behind them offered little warmth.

A sound caught Gibbs' attention. Instinct had him diving quickly for the ground, pulling McGee after him, before his brain could even process what he'd heard. He wrapped both arms around McGee and pulled him close, tucking Tim's head under his chin and cupping the back of his skull. "Archer's close." That whispered announcement stilled the body in his arms.

Gibbs blocked Tim's quivering form from his mind. He closed his eyes and listened. Wind whispered soft and lonely through high tree branches. Leaves chased each other across the ground, rolling and sliding. A whippoorwill called, and another answered. All those sounds wove together into a white noise in the back of Gibbs' mind. Another sound; something incongruous with nature, and barely audible, drew his attention: footsteps.

He opened his eyes. For just a moment, instead of trees surrounded by drifts of dead leaves, he saw rolling hills, thick with mud, colored red with American soldiers' blood. The scratchy material of a fatigue-patterned uniform rubbed against his forearms as the buddy in his arms struggled with the mind-blowing pain of a severed limb.

"Boss?"

The trembling whisper anchored Gibbs and brought him back to the immediate danger he and Tim faced.

"Hold still." The footsteps moved past. Gibbs weighed options and decided going on the defensive might give them the edge they needed to survive. Archer wouldn't expect it, and Tim couldn't go much farther, anyway. Holding still for just the few seconds they'd hidden in the leaves had drained most of McGee's reserves. He lay breathing heavily against Gibbs' chest, shivering and trembling with exhaustion. Fatherly protectiveness rose in him, painfully intense. He tightened his hold briefly, then curled closer until his mouth touched McGee's ear. "I'm not leaving you. Stay still – don't move."

When he pulled away, McGee rolled carefully aside. Despite their care, dried leaves shifted and crackled under them. Gibbs froze, listening if Archer had heard their movements. No ominous footsteps started their way. Gibbs separated himself from McGee and darted quickly to another tree. He wanted Archer to come after him, or be able to confront him, and he wanted McGee as far away from harm as possible by the time the two caught up with each other.

****


	4. Chapter 4

****

Archer caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He smiled and let a predator's instinct swell in him. One thing he'd always excelled at as a soldier: hunting the enemy. It's what made his C.O.s turn a blind eye when his behavior and performance in other areas lacked. It's what kept him in his squadron despite low scores in neatness and following directions. And it was the reason behind the many tally marks on his weapon.

A feral grin stretched his lips across his teeth. His movements were liquid; like a shadow he melted across the ground, choosing a path that bypassed his enemy rather than simply following. The thrill of moving quickly and silently enough to thrust a blade through his prey's spine pumped adrenaline through his blood. The expression of complete surprise -- lifted eyebrows, wide eyes, and open mouth -- gave him nearly as much satisfaction as the feel of warm blood pumping out of the wound.

Something came at him so fast and unexpected that he couldn't duck and avoid it. Surprise of being attacked knocked his brain's pathways off kilter, but he recovered quick enough to knock the gun out of Gibbs' hand. He rarely underestimated his enemy twice. Training and practice kept his movements fluid. He rolled with the hit and regained his footing, blade ready in his hand.

"You surprise me, Gibbs. Didn't expect an old man like you to get the jump on me."

Gibbs didn't answer and Archer's estimation of his enemy rose a notch. He knew not to be distracted or engage in dialogue. What other tricks did this old man have up his sleeve?

"You should guard your people better. I took the kid right out from under your nose." Archer grinned and waited for a reaction. Other than a slight tightening around the eyes, he saw none. "He screamed real pretty for me. I'll use the memory to fall asleep by at night."

Gibbs rushed at him, but not head on. He attacked from the side and jacked his elbow into Archer's face. Unprepared for the vehemence behind the blow, Archer staggered back. Gibbs followed with a blasting punch to Archer's midsection, then cut his fist across Archer's face. Archer crashed to the ground and dropped his knife.

But the soldier recovered faster than Gibbs. He swung his foot around and threw his own punch, catching Gibbs high on his cheekbone. Blood splattered in a fantail as Gibbs' head whip-snapped away, and he fell.

Archer stood up and picked up his knife. Blood traced a path from his nose to his chin. He moved cautiously to where Gibbs lay. The older man shifted from side to side, blinking rapidly. Taking advantage of Gibbs' disorientation, Archer kicked him in the ribs, hard. Gibbs cried out and rolled away. He came to an abrupt stop against a tree. Bracing himself, he watched Archer come closer, knife in hand.

"Archer!"

The shout rang through the trees. Archer froze. He turned, shocked at what he found. McGee stood, leaning heavily against a tree.

"Damn, you NCIS agents just don't quit, do you?"

"Leave him alone."

Archer began moving toward McGee. He grinned when he saw the injured man swallow hard and press against the tree, away from him.

"Sure, I'll leave him alone." He snapped out with one hand and caught McGee's throat, pushing him roughly against the tree. "I'll leave him alone to finish you, then I'll go back to him."

****

McGee choked and struggled to pull in air. Arched against the tree, his ribcage expanded. Pain threaded hot and thick through his body. He pushed against Archer's shoulder with one hand, groaning in anguish with his weakness. Strength drained away. His head felt empty; darkness framed his vision, coalescing until he saw Archer through a tunnel.

Shots cracked the silence. Archer convulsed, dancing as if an electric current played with his limbs. His fingers slid away from McGee's throat and he fell backward. McGee's knees buckled. He slid down the tree to sit on the ground. The dark edges around his vision receded, and he could just make out three people standing in triangle points away from him. Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs cut sharp figures against grey twilight, three gun barrels still pointing unerringly at Archer. Tim closed his eyes and sighed.

****

Tony lowered his weapon. He found himself out of breath, unaware he'd been holding it. It had taken he and Ziva only moments to search the house, find the barn, and follow the trial into the woods. But those moments had aged him with worry.

Gibbs moved toward McGee, and Tony hurried to join him. Ziva caught up, and they all reached McGee at the same time.

"Ziva, make sure Archer's dead. Tony, help me with McGee."

"God, he looks awful." Tony's observation went unanswered. Instead, Gibbs placed his hand on the side of McGee's face. Touched with the gesture, Tony glanced at Gibbs, then did a doubletake. "Boss? Are _you_ okay?"

Gibbs ignored the question, and the blood on the side of his own face. "McGee? McGee, open your eyes, son. Look at me."

McGee's eyes fluttered open. "Archer?"

"He's dead." Ziva rejoined them and knelt next to Tony. "I kicked him just to make certain." She studied McGee's face and frowned. "I can go shoot him again to make absolute certain, Gibbs."

Gibbs sighed and shook his head, but not in answer to Ziva's question.

"There's no signal out here, Boss. How're we --?"

"We're taking McGee to the hospital. Ziva, I left the keys in the car. Go see about pulling it up as close as you can. Don't get stuck."

Ziva nodded once and left. Both men froze for a second, then relaxed when they didn't hear a gunshot.

Gibbs shifted to McGee's side. "Get on his other side." He directed with his chin while working his arm behind McGee. "This is going to hurt, Tim. I want you to take a breath, then let it out fast."

McGee did as instructed. On his exhale, Gibbs and Tony stood, taking McGee with them. He locked his teeth together so hard, both men heard the audible click. A hoarse groan hissed between his teeth.

Tony grimaced in sympathy. "Sorry, Probie."

"Tony, not too tight. Be careful of his ribs."

McGee's head lolled sideways to rest on Gibbs' shoulder. He was breathing hard and his eyes were closed.

"One step at a time." Gibbs urged them forward. Somehow, they made it to the car. Ziva had navigated a fair distance into the trees behind the barn. She had the door open and the engine warm by the time they arrived. Gingerly, carefully, they helped McGee into the back.

Gibbs ran around to the front and got behind the wheel. After adjusting McGee's legs so that he looked as comfortable as possible, Ziva shut the door and joined Gibbs. He turned to back the vehicle out of the trees and head for the road.

"Hold him up, Tony. He needs to sit up straight so he can breathe."

Tony nodded. He shifted until McGee leaned against him, then reached to wrap one arm around his shoulders and press his palm to McGee's forehead, bracing Tim's head against his chest.

The ride was silent. When they were nearly there, Ziva took out her phone and called the hospital, preparing them for their patient. Then she called the Director and told him what they'd left back at the house. He assured them he would take care of things.

"He's out."

Gibbs glanced into the rearview mirror with Tony's statement. "Is he still breathing?"

Tony nodded, eyes wide with worry. "Yeah, but he's not looking too good."

Ziva twisted in her seat to look at them. "Five more minutes and we'll be there. Hang on, McGee."

Their arrival at the hospital created a frenzy of activity. Interns converged on both sides of the car and carefully extracted McGee. Tony's jaw locked and he tried to quell his billowing panic as he watched how loosely Tim's body folded and lolled in their arms when they transferred him to a gurney. A nurse pulled Gibbs aside and fussed over him. Tony and Ziva followed as far as they could until Emergency Trauma Room doors closed them out. They stood there for several moments, caught in the last vision they'd had of their friend. Gibbs finally pulled them out of their tableau for coffee and a place to sit and wait.

****

Gibbs had forgotten to look at his watch, so he had no idea how long they'd waited before a doctor came out to talk to them.

"He's been taken into surgery. Some bleeding showed up in his scan, and there are definite fractures and probably breaks in his ribs. We won't know the extent of the internal damage until after surgery. His vitals were good, so we're hoping the damage isn't too extensive. I'll let you know as soon as he's out."

Ziva spoke for them all. "Thank you."

Pressing his lips together in a brief smile, the doctor nodded and left.

Gibbs sat down. He sighed deeply and rubbed both hands over his face. Tony sat beside him. "What did he do to him, Boss? We found the ropes in the barn. Was McGee --?"

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. He didn't look at Tony. "He had him tied up. He hung him by his wrists and beat the crap out of him."

Tony didn't say anything. He caught Ziva's eye, saw the same anger reflected back at him. Standing abruptly, he walked to the stairwell and left.

"It is a difficult thing to want revenge and not be able to find it."

Gibbs rolled his head on the wall to look at Ziva. "Yes, it is."

****


	5. Chapter 5

4

Ducky arrived to find Ziva asleep, her head against Tony's shoulder. He leaned down to wake Tony when a hand blocked his reach. Gibbs crooked a finger at him, beckoning him away. Ducky followed.

"How's Timothy?"

Gibbs looked into his coffee cup and seemed surprised to find it empty. "He made it through surgery fine. The doctor said something about keeping an eye out for peritonitis, but they were able to repair the damage from the beating. Some of his ribs were pretty badly damaged, but they should eventually heal, too."

"Have you talked to him?"

"No. He just came and gave me the update. McGee won't be allowed any visitors for another twenty-four hours. He'll be in ICU while he recovers from surgery."

Ducky nodded. "Yes, that sounds about right. Abby will be highly upset she wasn't here to nurse him back to health."

Gibbs smiled. "I'm not making that phone call, Duck. I think it's safer to wait until she's back from her Conference next Monday. I have the feeling seeing McGee will calm her down and hopefully water down some of her anger."

Ducky laughed. "One can only hope." He glanced toward the sleeping agents. "How are the rest of you holding up?" His gaze swung back to Gibbs. "I assume, due to the butterfly bandage, that your injuries have been addressed?"

Gibbs touched the cut on his cheekbone and nodded. "We'll be fine."

"Archer gave you no choice, Jethro."

Gibbs looked away. "I know that. I have no qualms about killing the bastard."

"I meant his father."

Blue eyes cut back to Ducky. "I pushed him hard, Duck."

Ducky shook his head. "I checked his medical records. The man was living on borrowed time. He'd had a heart attack nearly five years ago, when they lost the family farm. That loss, plus the constant strain of covering up for his son, cost him dearly. I found 95% blockage of his arteries during the autopsy. He was walking dead, Jethro. Even if he hadn't collapsed during your questioning, his end was just around the corner."

Gibbs shrugged. "Now we'll never know."

Ducky watched him for a beat, then drew a deep breath. "I must get back. Let the others know I was here, will you? And give Timothy my best wishes."

"Will do, Duck." He watched the older man go, his thoughts on what Ducky had just told him.

Tony woke and gently extracted himself from Ziva. He joined Gibbs. "Was that Ducky I heard?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah. He's checking on McGee."

"How is he?"

Gibbs repeated the update to Tony. "We'll be able to see him by tomorrow this time. Drive Ziva home and go get some rest."

"What about you?"

Gibbs walked back to the coffee machines to refill his cup. "I'm stayin' a little while longer." He took a sip of his drink then glanced at Tony. The younger man stood frozen, staring at nothing. "Tony?"

Eyes refocused and Tony shook his head. "Just can't stop thinking about Archer, Boss, and what he did to Tim. If I had known --"

Gibbs moved closer and lowered his voice. "You would have done the same thing. Shot him. It's what we all did; all we could do, to save McGee. Don't give that bastard any more of your time, DiNozzo. He's not worth it."

Tony gave a resigned sigh, but he didn't look completely satisfied.

Gibbs gave him a little push and handed him the car keys. "Now go, get the Ninja Warrior Princess and go home. Come back tomorrow and tell McGee how you saved his life and how he owes you his first born."

A grin widened Tony's mouth. "That's true! I _did_ save his life. In some cultures that's considered a debt for life, you know?" He walked back to Ziva and nudged her shoulder. "Come on, Ziva. McGee's going to be fine. We have orders to go home and get some rest."

Gibbs listened as the two sparred, walking out of the hospital. Then he sat and waited.

Shifts changed around him, patients checked out, accident victims and people with obvious, and some not so obvious illnesses, checked in. Doctors walked by, moving from trauma to trauma. An ambulance brought a wreck victim in; a policeman brought in a man who'd been stabbed in the arm. Children cried, grown men wept, and women sat with hopeless expressions carved on their faces. A new mom, holding a tiny pink bundle, husband walking proudly beside her wheelchair, rolled through.

Gibbs watched it all and waited. He'd nearly fallen asleep when a nurse came to tell him he could see McGee. He dropped his cup into the trash and followed her, leaving his weariness behind. They threaded through halls and nurses' stations, and finally came to several cubicles separated by clear, thick glass. She passed two beds, then turned and motioned Gibbs closer. She smiled at him, told him in hushed tones that he could sit with the patient for ten minutes, and left him alone.

There was no chair, so Gibbs just stood by the bed. He believed himself to be observant, but couldn't remember McGee being so small – and when had he cut that long mop he'd been growing on his head? Short hair stuck out every which way, like a little boy who'd forgotten his comb. Cleaned of dirt and blood, McGee's bruises appeared applied with a marker, they were so dark against his pale face.

As he watched, McGee's head turned on his pillow. He sighed and opened his eyes. Squinting, then recognizing Gibbs, he grinned softly. "Hey, Boss."

Gibbs smiled. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

"So they tell me." His voice was low and hoarse, but it was good to hear. "Thanks for coming after me. Tell Tony and Ziva --"

"They'll be here in a few hours. You can tell them yourself. And Tony may ask for your first born."

McGee's eyes closed in what Gibbs could only assume was a smile. "Thanks for the heads up."

His eyes remained closed. Figuring the drugs must have pulled him under again, Gibbs reached over the bed railing and lightly grasped McGee's arm. Rope burns ringed McGee's wrists, and for a fleeting moment, revenge rose in Gibbs again. He closed his eyes. Something touched the top of his hand. He opened his eyes to find McGee's other hand over his.

Revenge melted away to make room for thankfulness and relief. He stood still and watched McGee sleep.

**THE END**


End file.
